Paths
by Juulna
Summary: They met decades ago within the halls of the Republic. Now, they are enemies, but it's harder to let go of the past and their love than either of them thought possible. [Mon Mothma x Orson Krennic] Disclaimed.


**Note: This sort of sprang up out of a conversation between a number of us in the Friday night chat, especially Ms-Q. I was thoroughly intrigued by the possibility that Mon Mothma and Krennic had met before, years ago, and perhaps... perhaps they had fallen in love.**

 **I aimed for poignant rather than sexy, so I hope that makes it interesting!**

 **Repost. Originally posted before Rogue One aired, on June 29th, 2016.**

* * *

 _"True morality consists not in following the beaten track, but in finding the true path for ourselves, and fearlessly following it."_

 _― Mahatma Gandhi_

* * *

 **Present**

Mon Mothma sat on one side of the long table, her flowing ivory robes carefully tucked around her, and her chain of office weighing comfortably against her shoulders and chest. She was surrounded by allies on all sides, and she took comfort in that as she stared placidly across the table at the members of the Imperial delegation, letting no hint of her emotions cross her features. She'd had decades of practice at just such a task.

Yet Mon Mothma didn't care about any of the delegates except for _one_. She hadn't expected him to be here; she hadn't thought he'd risen so high. Yet here he was.

Orson Krennic sat across from her, his grey hair different from the last time she'd seen him in person, but his blue eyes as piercing as ever.

They were so _cold_.

It wasn't supposed to have been this way.

* * *

 **Past**

"Senator?"

Mon Mothma turned around from where she'd been staring out the window of her office, appreciating the beautiful view of the distant Jedi Temple. She hadn't quite gotten used to the title yet, having only been here a week since her election to the Galactic Senate, as the youngest to be elected as more than a junior Senator at the tender age of eighteen.

"Yes?" she queried, trying to quell the urge to rub her sweaty palms across the loose, elegant robes common to Chandrila, her home world.

Her assistant gestured behind her. "There's someone here to see you. Shall I let them in?"

Mon Mothma had had a series of visitors over the last week, so she wasn't too surprised, but it was still nerve-wracking to entertain such _important_ people. She wondered who it would be this time, even as she nodded her head in assent.

Her assistant left, allowing a man probably ten years her senior to enter before the doors were shut. He was dressed in Republic military garb, his dark brown hair trimmed close to his head.

His blue eyes were at once piercing and welcoming as he strode towards her, stopping just shy of her still form to dip into a low bow.

"Greetings, Senator Mon Mothma," his deep voice intoned as he straightened. "I am Lieutenant Krennic, and I am the Commander of security in your wing of the Senate offices. My apologies for not having met with you sooner to welcome you to the building. I also wished to congratulate you on your appointment to the Senate."

Mon Mothma had become used to thanking people over the last week, but there was something about _this_ man in particular that had her flustered. "Why... thank you, Lieutenant Krennic. It's nice to meet you."

He winked at her while a smile spread slowly across his face. He'd obviously noticed her discomfort, and had easily guessed the cause. But he didn't seem to mind.

"Call me Orson."

No, he didn't mind one bit.

* * *

It was the eve of an important Senatorial debate, and Mon Mothma had stayed late to pour over her notes. She would be making the main address for her committee, and she wished to be able to do it without the aid of her notes.

A knock sounded at her office door.

"Come in," she called out absently.

Footsteps crossed the large room, sounding closer and closer to her until a gloved hand ghosted across the nape of her neck.

Mon Mothma smiled fondly, though she kept her eyes trained on her datapad. "Hello."

"What are you doing here so late?" Orson whispered against her ear before pressing a kiss to the skin below it.

She pressed her neck towards his lips, her eyes fluttering briefly shut before she opened them and turned towards him, reaching up to bring his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. She pulled back, finally, and answered him. "Preparing for the debate tomorrow."

He cupped her cheek with his gloved hand. "Is that why you missed dinner at my place?" he asked without accusation.

Mon Mothma's eyes widened and she brushed her hand back through the short strands of her hair. "Oh _stars_ , Orson, I'm sorry—"

"It's alright. It's the first time you've missed a date once in the three years since we started doing... this." He dropped his hand and leaned against the edge of her desk, beside where she sat.

She flushed slightly at the reminder of their first kiss, six years into her term, but met his eyes steadily with a smile. "I'll make it up to you."

He flashed her a nearly predatory grin—one that was full of hints of the charisma that had first caught her, hook, line, and sinker. "You always do."

* * *

It was nearly a decade and a half that she'd been here, and she'd never seen anything quite like it.

With a hand covering her mouth, she watched the holonews in shock as the Imperial military took control of Coruscant—and with it, the Senate. No more were they the Galactic Republic. No... instead they were the Galactic Empire.

What would become of the Senate? What would become of the Senators who had devoted their lives to achieving peace and concordance between so many disparate worlds in the galaxy?

What would become of _her_?

She didn't believe any of the lies being spouted over the holonews; the Jedi had always been kind and compassionate to her and many others, and to see what had happened to them, in the name of 'the greater good' and 'weeding out corruption'... it was disgusting, and entirely too hypocritical, from where she stood. She needed to contact her allies. They had predicted much of this, but for it to have happened like _this_ , and so _soon_... Her hand was reaching for her datapad, preparing to contact Padmé, when she suddenly froze.

Were those...?

They were.

One of the shots of the Imperial military arriving at the Senate steps included what appeared to be several high-ranking officers. Mon Mothma recognized several of them as members of the Republic military, generals and admirals alike. _They must have known about this for a long while, and played us from the inside,_ she thought angrily.

But the sight of one of the individuals at the far end of the line stole her breath entirely away, her blood pounding in her ears.

He was dressed the same as his compatriots, boots shining and stance proud.

 _Krennic._

Mon Mothma felt as if her heart were shattering, even as she replayed the memory of the last time they had touched, over and over again.

There would be no new caresses, kisses, or even innocent touches, she knew. Not ever again.

* * *

"What happened, Mon Mothma? Why are you doing this?" Orson's so-familiar voice warred with the entirely unfamiliar appearance of his new military garb. She focused solely on it, for she knew this would be made entirely too difficult if she focused on his face; on the eyes and features of the man she _loved_.

Because she still _did_ love him, despite everything that had come between them this last week. Despite everything she thought she had known about him coming crumbling down as an obstacle between them.

No one could erase over a decade of friendship and romance—even if they _wanted_ to.

Which she did, desperately.

"You know why," she said coolly, keeping her face composed in the graceful manner she had perfected over the years, even as her heart _ached_.

"Is it because I didn't tell you?" he responded, an angry rise to his voice.

She flicked her eyes at his face briefly before looking away again. "It's about you joining the Empire, _Major_ ," she replied calmly. "It's about your ideals being entirely different from what I thought they were—entirely different from everything I have _fought_ for the entirety of my adult life. You have _betrayed_ the Republic. You've betrayed _me_."

Before he could say a single word to rebut her, to explain, Mon Mothma spun on her heels and made her way towards the entrance of her office. "I am sure we will see each other again, but do _not_ come near me. Our paths diverge here, Major; all because of you. Where you are going, I cannot follow."

And she left without a single glance back.

* * *

 **Present**

Mon Mothma realized that she was being spoken to as she pulled herself out of her reveries.

It was _him_.

Her heart pounded as she struggled to keep her face composed and tears out of her eyes.

She still loved him after all these years. She'd been able to convince herself otherwise, yet seeing him in person brought _everything_ tumbling out into the forefront of her mind.

Mon Mothma pushed herself back from the table and addressed everyone within the room. "This was a mistake. Negotiations are of no use here."

She ignored the shocked glances and murmurs of her aides—she had _always_ touted diplomacy over anything else—and made her way towards the doors of the hall.

But not before catching his eyes. She tried to tell herself that it was to show him that she no longer cared about him; to prove to him that he meant _nothing_ to her... but really, she just wished to catch one last glimpse of the eyes of the man she loved.

She knew she would never see him again—she _vowed_ to never see him again. But she needed that one last memory to carry her through the coming years.

Because chances were, one or both of them would die in this conflict.

Settling into the private chambers of her ship, Mon Mothma allowed herself a few shaky breaths before stealing herself and reaching for her datapad. She knew that it hadn't been the wrong decision to walk out of that meeting. Before they'd even begun she'd known it to be an event where both sides would posture.

Well, she had just won that contest.

Now it was time to call into play the covert mission she and the young Leia Organa had begun to plan. She reminded her _so much_ of her mother...

Mon Mothma's eyes hardened at the reminded of what the Empire had cost her, had cost Leia—had cost everyone, truly, with the loss of Padmé Amidala.

More would be lost before the war was over. It rested on her shoulders, heavier than her chains, to make sure that she could finish the war as quickly as possible.

And if that meant Orson... _Krennic_... had to die?

So be it.


End file.
